


Perks

by fourteencandles (thingsbaker)



Series: Here's Us Together [9]
Category: Entourage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3742162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsbaker/pseuds/fourteencandles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An outtake from People Come Around (fits in around March or April) that explains exactly what bet Vince won on the golf course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perks

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my LJ in 2008.

Outtake: Perks

 

“So I’ve been thinking,” Vince says, and that’s the first sign, as always, that Eric’s day is about to get more interesting.

“Yeah?” Eric’s driving, so he can’t really turn to look at him. He’s pretty sure Vince plans things like this, likes to catch Eric when he can’t look him right in the eye. It’s a little weird, but he’s been doing it as long as Eric can remember. A sure signal that he’s nervous. “What about?”

“Sex,” Vince says, and Eric laughs, involuntarily.

“Please tell me you aren’t going on strike.”

“Do people actually do that?” Vince asks, then shakes his head. “No. So. I think we should have more sex.”

Now Eric risks a glance over. They’ve been sleeping together three or four times a week, recently, which is more than they ever have before. It’s actually more sex than Eric’s had in quite a while, even when he was with Sloan. “Uh… OK?”

Vince grins. “Good.”

He turns back to looking out the window, and Eric’s left to stare ahead. More sex? They haven’t been having enough? Is Vince bored already? They’ve only been together, seriously, for four months. “Uh, Vince?” he says, flipping up his sunglasses.

“Uh-huh.”

“What the fuck?”

Vince turns back. “What the fuck what?” he says, but Eric doesn’t bother to explain. Vince has got to know how weird this sounds. After a moment, he sighs. “I just — we live together. The guys know now. We might as well take advantage of it, right?”

“I kind of thought we were,” Eric says. Just last night, they took pretty good advantage of the Jacuzzi in Vince’s bathroom.

Vince shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, I just thought — it’s not a big deal, if you don’t want to.”

Eric scoffs, and takes a left turn a little too fast, trying to beat the light. Vince leans closer to him for a moment, then shifts back into his seat. “Of course I want to,” he says.

“OK,” Vince says. “Good.”

“Good.” Eric puts his sunglasses back on. “So, more sex.”

“Yeah,” Vince says.

“That’s it? That’s what you were thinking about?”

“Yep.” Eric nods, and Vince turns completely back to the window. “Also, uh, how would you feel about me, maybe, tying you up? Sometime?”

Eric looks over without thinking, then snaps back to the road. “Excuse me?”

“Or you could do me,” Vince says. He shrugs. “Just, you know, a thought.”

Eric blinks, glances over, then back at the road. “In the car? We’re having this conversation  _while I’m driving_?”

“The guys will be at lunch,” Vince says, as though this is an explanation. Then he turns, and when Eric looks over, he’s grinning. “Plus, if I’d mentioned it in bed, you would’ve already signed up. Didn’t seem fair, using post-sex advantage.”

Eric shakes his head. “You’re worried about fairness.”

“Always,” Vince says. Eric pulls into the garage at MGA, and Vince rests his hand, just briefly, on his shoulder. “Just think about it, OK?” he says.

After that, of course, there’s nothing else Eric can think about. They’re in the meeting with Ari, talking over final details about the Nightfeeders shoot, and Ari says, “He wants you in wires the first week, I think.” Eric blinks and sits forward, away from Vince’s arm, which is casually resting along the back of the couch. He has a split-second image of Vince’s hand looped in cord, in cuffs, and is suddenly in danger of throwing wood in Ari’s office.

“Did you get the pay thing straightened out?” he asks, happy that his voice is steady.

“Always all about the money, E,” Ari says. “What about the art? What about creativity, what about passion?”

“Passion doesn’t pay my bills,” Eric says.

“That’s right, Vince does,” Ari snaps. Eric feels his face heat up. 

Vince laughs. “Come on, Ari, you said you were going to fix the residuals. Did you do it?”

“For you, yes, Vince, I did. I said I’d do it, I did it. You know how I work. Anything you want. That’s my slogan — anything Vince wants. I’m gonna get a tattoo. For Lloyd.”

“Very sweet,” Eric says, still blushing. 

The rest of the meeting goes about the same way. Ari makes his usual cracks, Eric makes his usual retorts, Vince chimes in to make peace. They leave happy, or happy as usual, with a promise to see a fax of the newest contract and schedule by the end of the day. Ari also agrees to get the latest script couriered over as soon as he sees it, which will probably be the next morning. Eric’s thinking about that, about how he’ll barely have time to look at it the next day with all the shit they have planned, when Vince reaches across him to jab the button in the elevator. Eric’s eyes are drawn to his wrist, and he’s surprised by how thin and tender it looks. He’s surprised to be aroused just by noticing that.

“You OK?” Vince asks.

“Fine,” Eric says, and clears his throat. “We should think about canceling on the party tomorrow night, maybe, if the script is coming through.”

Vince shrugs. “Or I can go,” he says, and Eric rolls his eyes. 

They step out of the elevator, and Eric takes the keys from the valet. He waits until they’re in the car, then says, “You go out tomorrow, it might interfere with your more sex plan.”

“Oh,” Vince says, and nods once. “So wait up for me.”

“Vince -”

“You’ll be reading anyway,” he says. “Besides, I’ll leave earlier if I know you’re waiting for me.”

It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s as good as anything else. Vince probably should make an appearance at Cameron’s birthday party, and Eric has no interest in going, really, except to hang out with Vince. If they’re going to get some time when he gets back, that’ll be enough.

 

The next night, Turtle and Vince leave after dinner to hit the party, and Eric settles in on the couch with the redone script for  _Nightfeeders_. The changes aren’t major, with the exception of a scene added in the middle at the request of the new villain. The language there seems a little over-the-top to Eric, but hey, Austin isn’t his client. Vince’s scenes look pretty good. He has one big love scene, and Eric reads through that twice. It’ll look good on screen, he’s sure; just reading about it, seeing the stage directions ( _savagely_  catches his eye), he gets a little turned on. Man, Vince was born to do this.

It’s nearly midnight by the time he’s done there, and he shuffles the script together with his notes and takes them to the office, then stops in the hallway. His room is right next door — it would make sense to wait there, because, well, it’s his room. There’s a TV, he could get in his pajamas, just relax until Vince and Turtle breeze in. Besides, who knows if they’re actually going to make it home at a decent hour. Vince’s definition of leaving early has never meshed neatly with Eric’s, and Turtle doesn’t know the meaning of the phrase at all.

The thing is, though, whenever they’ve been together recently, it’s always been in Vince’s room (well, except for last weekend, but Turtle was out of the house and Vince was so fucking hot in the morning, Eric didn’t know what else he could’ve been expected to do when he showed up in the kitchen in his towel). Vince has the better (bigger) bed; Vince has the bigger bathroom, too. Beyond that, Vince’s bedroom is further away from Turtle’s.

But it’s still  _Vince’s_  bedroom.

Eric shakes his head. He’s not going to wait for Vince in his bedroom; he’s not going to wait in any bedroom. He’ll stay up until he’s tired, and then he’ll go to bed. If Vince makes it home first, fine; if not, well, that’s not a bad lesson for him to learn.

At 2, Eric turns off the television and goes to the kitchen to pour out the rest of his drink. He rinses the glass and sets it in the dishwasher, almost laughs at himself for moving so slow. He climbs the stairs, closes the door to his room, slides into bed, and goes to sleep. Alone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s noon before Vince surfaces in the kitchen the next day, looking tired and a little red-eyed. Eric rolls his eyes. He can smell smoke and alcohol on Vince, still — not an arousing morning combination. “You have fun?” he asks.

“No,” Vince says, slumping into the chair next to Eric’s. He rests his head on the table. “Turtle wouldn’t let me leave.”

Eric snorts. “You’re a grown up,” he says.

“Who can’t drive,” Vince mutters. “He was trying to score with this girl.”

“And the girl wanted to score with you,” Eric says, and Vince nods. 

He turns his head to the side. “You should’ve come,” he says.

Eric reaches over and puts his hand on Vince’s shoulder, rubs a little. “You can defend yourself,” he says, and Vince huffs.

“Duh,” he says. “But you could’ve driven me home, at least.” He blinks. “You didn’t even wait up.”

“I tried,” Eric says, pulling his hand back. “I didn’t think you’d be back so late.”

“Me either,” Vince grumbles, and puts his head back down. “Fuck, tequila.”

Eric laughs a little at that, because even he knows that’s not the way to have a good time. “You want something for it?” he asks.

“A gun,” Vince says, and Eric rubs his neck.

“Aspirin and coffee,” he says. “And get a shower, man, you stink.”

Vince pushes himself up after a minute and walks out, and soon Eric hears the water start. He reads through a few more e-mails, then starts coffee brewing. When it’s done, or close enough to get a full cup out, he walks back to Vince’s room and finds him spread out face down on the bed, wearing just his underwear. Eric sets the coffee down on the bedside table and sits on the bed, leans over and kisses the middle of Vince’s back, still warm from the shower. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs.

“Hmm?” Vince says.

Eric smooths one hand up Vince’s side. “I’m not repeating it,” he says. He keeps rubbing his hand up and down Vince’s back, letting his fingers linger at the nape of his neck and then at the low curve of his spine, until Vince groans.

“Damn,” he mutters. “Now I’m hungover and hard.”

Eric laughs and draws back. “All right, I’ve got a fix for one of those.”

“I bet you do,” Vince says, and he rolls over and sits up. He is a little hard — it’s not difficult to see that, and Eric’s momentarily distracted — but he also looks a little green.

“Coffee,” Eric says, to remind himself and to direct Vince’s attention. Vince nods and takes the cup in both hands. Eric gets up and finds him some comfortable clothes: well broken-in jeans and a long-sleeved black tee that Vince often wears when they’re just lounging around the house.

Vince eventually gets dressed and takes the aspirin, and by the time Turtle staggers out — looking just as rough and smelling even worse — Vince is sitting at the kitchen table, eating toast and drinking more coffee. Eric’s never been the world’s greatest party guy, and he’s particularly bad at the day-after shit. He can handle taking care of Vince — it’s sort of part of the whole boyfriend deal, he figures, beyond which Vince has never been a particularly difficult hangover victim — but listening to Turtle bitch about his headache, his stomachache, and on and on, well, that’s more than Eric can take. He leaves them poolside and drives to the office to get a few things done. By the time he gets home, it’s after dinner; Turtle and Vince are both lounging on the couches inside, watching some import horror film. Eric watches for a while, sipping a beer, then realizes that both of the other guys have fallen asleep. He pulls the throw blankets over them both, then goes to bed himself.

The next day, they go to Ari’s office and sign the papers, officially, for  _Nightfeeders_. Eric is ridiculously relieved, seeing Vince’s name on the page, and not just because his own payday will be over a million dollars. He thought eventually he’d feel secure about Vince’s chances, that they’d reach a plateau at which passing on a movie didn’t feel like a big deal — like a potential fortune turned away — but Eric isn’t there yet. He’s not sure if he’s ever going to get there, now, because the thing he and Vince have going, well, it could derail all of the progress they’ve made. So having a contract in front of them, that makes Eric feel better. Even if they’re outed tomorrow, even if everything falls apart, he’ll still have work. They’ll be OK. That’s what this paper says.

They grab a late lunch, then Turtle and Drama head over to tape his next few segments on Hollywood Squares. They’ll have the house to themselves for the afternoon and most of the evening, which Vince mentions twice on the drive home.

“Something you want to do this afternoon?” Eric teases, stopping in front of the house.

“Guess,” Vince says. 

He leads Eric through the house with a jocular strip-tease, tossing off his T-shirt in the entryway, dropping his jeans in the hall, and kicking his briefs off next to the bed. “I don’t get it,” Eric says, putting his hands on Vince’s bare waist, “what was it you wanted to do?”

“You,” Vince mutters against his mouth, and then pushes him down onto the bed. They make out, for a while, and Vince works to get Eric’s clothes off. When he has Eric’s shirt free — after he’s complained about Eric’s wardrobe for the eighteenth time, because “no one should be wearing so many layers in California, man,” — Eric reaches up, grabs the headboard, and slides one hand out to the post. It takes a minute, but Vince looks up, suddenly, and hovers over Eric. “Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” Eric says, and Vince kisses him breathless before he pulls away. He hops off the bed and goes straight to his closet, and Eric feels ridiculous, sitting there stretched out, half-naked, aroused, just waiting. Vince is pawing through his jackets. “What are you looking for?”

Vince shakes his head and reaches farther into the closet, then draws back. He has two red ties in his hands, and Eric shifts, feeling his stomach flip. “Ta-da,” Vince says, walking over. He sits and drops the ties on Eric’s chest, and Eric touches them. Silk, he realizes; expensive, smooth, and strong. He looks up. “You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah,” Vince says. “But only a few times.”

“And you like it?”

He nods, then frowns, and covers Eric’s hand with his own. “We don’t have to, E.”

“Hey, I said I’d try it,” Eric says. He sits up and kisses Vince. “I trust you.”

Vince smiles at that, and kisses him back, and slowly they ease back down to the bed. He can tell Vince is trying to distract him, get him hot enough that he won’t think about the ties or what’s to come, but Eric’s mind is never far from that. When Vince slides a hand up his arm, stretching it out, Eric closes his eyes and lets it happen.

In truth, it doesn’t do much for him. Vince ties him not to the bed posts, because his arms don’t quite reach that far (an awkward fact they discover pretty quickly), but to the convenient hollow places in the scroll work on the headboard itself. Then he goes down on Eric, and Eric tugs a little at the restraints just because he wants, like always, to be touching Vince. He doesn’t like the imposed distance. It’s not that he feels powerless — he knows Vince will stop if he asks; Vince will back off if he so much as glares — it’s just that he feels disconnected. This isn’t what sex — good sex — is about for him. Vince fucks him, and Eric gets off but it’s not as good as usual. Afterwards, his arms ache a little, and after Vince unties him he rolls him over and rubs his shoulders and back. That, Eric likes.

“So?” Vince murmurs, the massage over.

Eric turns and looks up at him. He shrugs. “It’s all right,” he says.

Vince smirks. “Just all right?”

“Not my new favorite thing,” Eric says. “But if you really dig it —”

“I don’t know,” Vince says, shrugging. “It’s better when you’re into it.”

“Sorry,” Eric says. Vince settles next to him. “I can try harder.”

“Hey, no, it’s fine,” Vince says. “Some things work, some things don’t.”

Eric nods. He kisses the back of Vince’s wrist. “I can do you, next time.”

“Worth a try.” Vince grins. “The perks of couplehood, huh?”

“Sure.” Eric’s starting to feel a little sleepy. He pulls Vince in closer. “Perks galore.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They spend the next day doing nothing, just hanging around the house, daring each other to do stupid shit, like sending a dozen pizzas to Tobey Maguire’s house and insisting that the Pizza Hut driver address him only as Spidey (since Eric actually makes the call, Vince agrees to be a man and admit it to Tobey when they see him at the next Lakers game), calling Ari and pretending to be Lloyd (Vince does a much better impersonation, but Eric doesn’t mind paying up on the blowjob they bet; he enjoys it too much, in fact, because Vince declares he’s also going to owe him a drink. “Losing shouldn’t be anywhere near as good as winning,” he says), and short-sheeting Turtle’s bed after finding a new bag in his dresser. They get tipsy and high watching celebrity poker on ESPN, and by the time Turtle rolls in from a day with Drama, Eric’s almost too tired to get up off the couch. But when Vince gets up, he says, “You coming?” to Eric, so he follows.

Back in Vince’s room, Eric just falls on the bed, decides that one day out of thirty plus years where he doesn’t brush his teeth at night isn’t going to kill him. He kicks off his shoes and pants and stretches out on the bed, ready to call it a night.

Vince does brush his teeth, though, and when he comes back from the bathroom smelling like face wash and mouthwash, Eric opens his eyes. “Hey,” he says, and Vince grins.

“Hey hey.” He walks slowly across the room, flops on the bed next to Eric, and kisses him. 

Eric intends it to be a good-night kiss, but Vince pushes a little, goes deeper, and Eric plays along for a minute. Then he draws away, one of his hands on Vince’s face. “OK,” he says, “seriously, I know it messes with your more sex plan, but I’m too tired.”

“Yeah?”

Eric nods and yawns. “Sorry.”

“It’s OK.” Vince keeps looking at him. “But you’re going to stay, right?” he asks, and Eric blinks.

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “That’s OK?”

“Yeah,” Vince says. He turns and gets under the blanket, and Eric does, too. Vince lays on his stomach so he’s looking up at Eric. “I just thought — I didn’t know if we were at the sleepover stage.”

Eric snorts. “The sleepover stage? Vince, I’ve slept here like a million times now.”

“I meant — “ He clears his throat. “It’s sort of like moving in together, isn’t it?”

“We already live together, jackass.”

“But — OK. If you’re sleeping here because we’ve had sex, that’s one thing. But if it’s — if you’re just sleeping here —”

“Oh.” Eric sits up just a little. “Do you —”

“I want you to stay,” Vince says. “But you usually don’t unless we’ve had sex.”

“You couldn’t pry me out of here tonight,” Eric says, and he scoots closer.

Vince kisses his shoulder, through his shirt, and then closes his eyes. Eric is pretty sure the conversation is over, until Vince says, “You should move some of your stuff down here, you know? So you don’t always have to run upstairs to change in the morning.”

Eric raises an eyebrow but doesn’t open his eyes. He’s too tired. “Yeah, all right,” he says, and then echoes Vince’s good-night and falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

The next month, they have their first big, serious fight since the big, serious fight that eventually got them together in the first place. But this one is over a premiere, and a girl, and even after it’s over Eric’s left feeling uncentered and nervous for a couple of days. He can tell Vince is feeling weird about the whole thing, too, by the way he’s suddenly more touchy: a hand falls on his back as they’re leaving Ari’s office, Vince’s knee rests against his when they’re lounging on the couch, his arm curls over Eric’s chest when they sleep. Two days after the fight, Turtle and Drama split for the afternoon to visit some new sneaker shop in Pasadena, and Vince leans across the kitchen table and says, one hand encircling his wrist, “I think, today, it’s your turn.”

“Yeah?” Eric asks, and Vince nods.

“Unless you don’t –“

Eric is surprised that he has to make himself act casual, here, that he’s already turned on just by the idea of it. “No, I mean, it could be interesting to turn things around,” he says, and Vince grins and kisses him and leads him back to the room.

And that’s exactly how it goes:  _everything_  gets turned around. If he was apathetic last time, this time he’s into it from the moment they step into the bedroom. Everything turns him on: watching the ties slither onto the bed, watching Vince – lucky tall freak – stretch his arms out to the posts, looking down at him once he’s bound, looking up at him as he slides his shorts off. He’s had some great sex with Vince before, but this – this  _does_  something for him. He feels wild, and powerful, and sexy, and he looks down at Vince and sees the same feelings, the same intensity, reflected in his eyes, and that just makes it better. When it’s over, for them both, Eric nearly blacks out; he falls forward with twinkling white stars at the edges of his vision, his chest heaving, every muscle in his body sore and sated and hot.

When he stirs, Vince’s chest is sweaty under his cheek, and it takes him a second to slide back. “Let me up, E,” Vince says, his voice soft.

Eric nods. He feels dull, tired, half-asleep already. As he unties Vince’s hands, he realizes Vince isn’t talking, isn’t even looking at him. “You OK?” he asks, loosening the knot on the second tie.

“Mm-hm,” Vince says. He pulls his wrist to his chest, rubs it with the other, curls quietly onto his side and flexes both hands. Eric lies down again, behind him, and feels a flutter of shame in his belly. Vince is hunched up like he’s _wounded_.

“Vince?”

“I’m fine,” he says, sitting up, his legs over the side of the bed, his back to Eric. Eric touches Vince’s side gently. “I’m gonna take a shower before dinner,” Vince says, and stands up.

All through dinner, Eric feels the same swell of uncertainty. Vince seems fine; physically, he’s moving like nothing happened, isn’t favoring his arms or anything, and he laughs brightly along with Turtle as Drama explains his newest dating plan. But something is off. Something is weird. It takes Eric too long to realize that Vince isn’t meeting his eyes, not like normal, and then Eric feels like throwing up. They sit next to each other at the table and don’t touch — not that there’s occasion for it, not really, but Eric suddenly feels the absence of contact like a slap. I have fucked things up completely, he thinks. I am a freak and he hates me. He keeps his head down, mentions a headache to keep Turtle off his case, and calls for the check early. Vince doesn’t say anything substantial to him the whole meal.

They ride home as a group, everyone but Eric a little drunk, and the other guys spread out over the couches in the living room. There’s no space left for Eric, really; Vince is stretched across the big sofa, and he could take a seat at the other end but he feels like that would be wrong.

“I’m just gonna crash,” he says, when Turtle suggests they get out the bong.

“Yeah?”

Eric nods. He turns toward the kitchen, gets a glass of water, and then stops at the door. Our bedroom, he thinks, looking down the hall, but he’s not sure he can do it. Not sure he can go in there, see the ties still tossed over the headboard. He’s not sure he can sleep with Vince’s back turned to him.

“Hey.”

Eric turns and sees Vince silhouetted in the doorway. He swallows his water, splutters a return greeting. “You OK?” Vince says, stepping into the dark kitchen. He stands across the island, his hands in his pockets.

“Me? I’m fine,” Eric says.

Vince nods. “Just you seemed a little weird at dinner.”

Eric gapes at him. “I did?”

“Your head OK?”

It’s bizarro world, Eric thinks for a moment, and then he understands what this is. This is Vince saying it’s OK, it’s weird, but they’re going to be OK. He sets the water down. “Yeah,” he says, glad his voice is steady. “I’m fine.”

Vince nods again. “So stay up with us,” he says.

Eric thinks about saying no, about saying he really should just get some rest. But if Vince is offering him a way out of this, if they’re just going to pretend the whole thing didn’t happen, Eric’s fine with that. He’s OK with just going back. “All right, yeah,” he says, and Vince smiles. It’s a small smile, but Eric figures that’s close enough.

“Get some beers,” Vince says, and Eric agrees.

He joins Vince on the couch, and though they sit at opposite ends Eric feels better. When they go to bed, they go to Vince’s room together. While he’s in the bathroom, Eric pulls the ties down and stuffs them behind the bedside table; he’ll have to remember to get rid of them completely the next day.

“Good-night,” Vince says, when he crawls into bed. He sleeps on his back, like usual, not turned away, but he doesn’t kiss Eric or wait for him to turn out the light before he falls asleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Turtle agrees to go to some bar with Drama even though Vince tries to get them to stick around. Eric hears his tone and winces; things aren’t OK after all. Vince doesn’t even want to be alone with him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thinks, hearing Turtle’s car pull away outside.

Vince walks into the kitchen and stares at him for a moment, and when Eric looks up Vince looks away. “You want to go out tonight?” Vince asks.

“Yeah, OK,” Eric says.

They go to some trendy bar that Vince used to frequent, a place Eric’s probably been but can’t remember. Everyone knows Vince, though — not just knows of him but knows him, and he knows them all, and Eric feels sidelined almost immediately. He doesn’t care, really, because Vince seems to be having a good time, chatting with a younger couple at the bar. He introduces Eric as his manager, like he’s just there on business. Eric orders another gin and tonic.

By the time they leave, Eric is drunk, and Vince is positively fucking glowing. The bouncer steadies Eric as they step onto the sidewalk, and Vince laughs and thanks him and takes Eric by the arm. “Now who’s going to drive us home?” he asks, but when Eric starts to feel alarmed, he laughs again. They’re in a car five minutes later, and Eric’s slumped against the window, watching Vince text message someone. He’s smiling to himself, humming a song from the bar. Usually, Eric would find this irresistible, but right now he’s just confused, and tired, and maybe frightened. Maybe angry. He’s not sure exactly what he’s feeling, so he closes his eyes and tries to make it all go away.

Vince tries to help him out at the house, but Eric can walk, goddammit, he’s fine on his own. “Man, not prickly drunk,” Vince says, unlocking the door. “Why can’t you be cuddly drunk tonight?”

“I’m never cuddly,” Eric says, walking into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and sees what he was looking for — a bottle of water — right next to a bottle of beer. He closes his eyes and his hand wraps around glass.

“That’s just not true,” Vince says. His hands slide onto Eric’s shoulders as Eric’s opening the bottle. “Uh, seriously, man?”

Eric takes a drink. The beer doesn’t taste like anything. He’s that drunk. “Seriously what?” Eric says.

“You’re drinking more?”

“Guess so,” Eric says, and Vince backs away. When Eric turns around, Vince is looking at him with his head tilted to one side and his eyes narrowed. “What?”

He reaches out and gestures for the bottle, which Eric hands him, thinking he wants a drink. Instead, Vince sets it on the island behind him. “You’ve had enough,” Vince says. 

“Says who,” Eric mutters, leaning back against the fridge.

“Says me. And I have some authority, here,” he says. “As a rehab graduate and the guy who’s gonna be cleaning your ass up off the floor in the morning.”

“Whatever,” Eric says. He opens the fridge again and gets out the water, doesn’t miss Vince’s relief when he sees which bottle Eric’s holding. “ _What_ , Vince?”

“I didn’t realize you were trying to get drunk,” Vince says. “I thought you were just — bored.”

Eric rubs his face. He’s sleepy and thirsty and maybe a bit prickly. “I thought you were avoiding me,” he says.

“What? When?”

“At the bar,” he says. “You were talking to those people.”

“Uh, that’s what I do,” Vince says. “That’s why you go out, so you can —”

“You weren’t talking to  _me_ ,” Eric says, and cringes at how whiny he sounds. He closes his eyes and thinks about what he’s said. “I mean, earlier.”

There’s a pause, and Eric finds the silence ugly and accusing. He doesn’t look up at Vince, is surprised when his voice is gentle. “What’s going on, E?”

“Things are weird,” Eric says. “I don’t want them to be weird.”

He hears Vince shift and opens his eyes. “Me, either,” Vince says, not meeting his eyes.

Eric nods. “So — let’s just — we can just forget it, OK, we can forget about yesterday.”

Vince looks up. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” Eric says. “Sure. I want whatever makes you happy.”

“But — did you like it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Eric says, even though as he says it he can see Vince under him, tension rippling in his shoulders. Just the memory gets him a little hot. “You didn’t. We don’t ever —”

“I did,” Vince says, quietly. He shifts again, from one foot to the other. “I really liked it.”

Eric takes a step away from the fridge and feels, suddenly, drunk again, unsteady. He puts his hand back to steady himself at the same time Vince reaches for him, his hand flat on Eric’s chest. “You did?” Eric says, looking down at his bent wrist.

“We should get you to bed,” Vince says, taking the water bottle out of Eric’s hand.

“Vince -”

“We’ll talk in the morning, OK?” he says. “When you’re sober and I’m not so tired.”

So they go to bed, and again they don’t exactly touch but Eric figures this is mostly because once he sits on the bed he’s just out.

He wakes up too early, head thrumming, the world dipping around him. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters, closing his eyes again. He hears Vince laugh behind him, a snuffling, sleepy laugh, just before his hand lands on Eric’s shoulder.

“Sleep through it,” he suggests, rubbing Eric’s shoulder briefly.

His touch is better than aspirin, and Eric leans back into him. “Good plan.”

 

Eric wakes again at eleven and feels a little more steady. He struggles into the bathroom and swallows two Aspirin before he gets in the shower. After that, he feels a little better, but not enough to take the juice that Vince offers when he walks into the kitchen. He gets a Diet Coke instead and sits at the table across from Vince. “Turtle?” he asks.

“Asleep,” Vince says. “About as hungover as you, probably.”

“OK. So. You liked it,” Eric says, pressing the cold can to his temple.

“Jumping right in, huh? Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“Vince.”

Vince nods. “A lot,” he says earnestly. “I liked it a lot, E.”

“We’re talking about the same thing, right?” Eric says. “Like, the thing where I tied you up?”

“Yeah,” Vince says. His eyes are half-lidded, sleepy-looking. Or aroused, maybe. Eric blinks but can’t tell.

“You were -” he starts to say weird and thinks better of it. “You were quiet, afterwards,” he says.

Vince nods. “I didn’t think I would like it,” he says. “I mean, I thought it’d be like it was for you, ho-hum, something kind of fun, like it’s been before, but, whoa, E.” He looks up, and Eric definitely sees it’s arousal, now. “Whoa.”

Eric smiles. “Me, too,” he says, and Vince smiles a little, too. “But, so, wait, why were you all quiet about it?”

“Because — it’s weird, right? That I — that I want you to tie me down, or something?”

“It’s not that weird. I mean, you were the one who said lots of people do it,” Eric says. “Unless you’re — you’re not saying you want to do that all the time, are you?”

“No,” Vince says. “I don’t know if I’d survive it. I think I left some brain cells on the sheets.”

Eric snorts, then regrets it and rubs his forehead. “So what — what are you saying?” he asks after a moment. Vince shrugs. “No, come on. Something’s eating you.”

“Why did you like it?” Vince asks.

Eric sits back, wanting a little more space to consider how to word this. “I guess,” he says, after a moment, “it’s like, you know, like last night. We go out and you, like, you’re a star. You’re fucking amazing, you’re cool, you’re easy with people, you’re —”

“You had me at amazing,” Vince says, smirking, “but what’s that got to do with —”

“You’re almost above everything,” Eric says. He sees Vince frown and shakes his head. “I don’t mean snotty. I just mean, you’re so in control out there. You’re at the top of your game, you don’t have to take shit from anyone. I know you think I make all the decisions, but that’s not — that’s not really true. You make everything possible, you know? And it’s, I guess it’s sort of a turn on to know you trust me like that, that you’ll, like, let me see you — make you — vulnerable.” He shrugs and looks across. Vince looks perplexed. “What? Why did you like it?”

“For almost the same reason,” he says, “only reversed. I think — it made me feel grounded, I guess, which is how I feel with you anyway, but like more. More than usual.” He shrugs. “Like you were going to take care of me, no matter what. Which, I don’t know, I keep trying to think of a better way to say that, because, it sounds like, kind of —”

“Submissive?” Eric says, and he watches Vince flinch.

“I don’t like that word,” he says. “Like — dependent.”

“Huh.” Eric looks down, because he’s not sure what to say. In a way, he’s always seen Vince as dependent — co-dependent, Kristen called them, and he can buy that, now, he can see where that’s true, though not in the twisted way she talked about. But maybe Vince has a different picture. “Is that bad?”

“We have a pretty nice balance going,” Vince says. “I mean, I thought we did.”

“I thought so, too,” Eric says. “I still think so. This doesn’t change anything.”

“Yeah?”

And Eric gets it, suddenly, that this is what Vince has been worried about all along, that they’d discovered something new, something dangerous, about themselves, when Eric really just sees it as… more. More of the same, maybe, but more. “It doesn’t change anything for me,” he says, and Vince nods. “I mean, it might change what I ask for for my birthday.” Now Vince laughs, and Eric knows they’re going to be OK. “All right?” he says. “We’re OK?”

“We’re better than that,” Vince says.


End file.
